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“I wish—” she said in a low, tense voice—“I wish that some day Pop and Mrs. Breen will be repaid for looking after my brother and me. I wish that they may have more money for food and clothes and a few really nice things.”

An awkward, embarrassing silence descended upon the group of girls. Everyone knew that Rhoda and her younger brother, Ted, lived at a trailer camp with a family unrelated to them, but not even Penny had troubled to learn additional details. From Rhoda’s wish it was apparent to all that the Breens were in dire poverty.

“It’s your turn now, Louise,” Penny said quickly.

Louise accepted the dipper. Without drinking, she tossed all the water into the well, saying gaily:

“I wish Penny would grow long ears and a tail! It would serve her right for solving so many mystery cases!”

The other girls made equally frivolous wishes. Thereafter, they abandoned fun for serious work, getting out their sketching materials. Penny and Louise began to draw the old well, but Rhoda, intrigued by the classical beauty of the house, decided to try to transfer it to paper.

“You do nice work,” Penny praised, gazing over the older girl’s shoulder. “The rest of us can’t begin to match it.”

“You may have the sketch when I finish,” Rhoda offered.

As she spoke, the girls were startled to hear a commotion in the bushes behind the house. Chickens began to cackle, and to their ears came the sound of pounding feet.

Suddenly, from the direction of the river, a young man darted into view, pursued by an elderly man who was less agile. To the girls, it was immediately apparent why the youth was being chased, for he carried a fat hen beneath his arm, and ran with hat pulled low over his face.

“A chicken thief!” Penny exclaimed, springing to her feet. “Come on, girls, let’s head him off!”

CHAPTER
2
BY THE COVERED WELL

Seeing the group of girls by the wishing well, the youth swerved, and fled in the opposite direction. Darting into the woods, he ran so swiftly that Penny realized pursuit would be futile.

“Who was he?” she questioned the others. “Did any of you recognize him?”

“I’m sure I’ve seen him somewhere,” Louise Sidell declared. “Were you able to see his face, Rhoda?”

The older girl did not answer, for at that moment the man who had pursued the boy ran into the yard. Breathing hard, he paused near the well.

“Did you see a boy come through here?” he asked abruptly. “The rascal stole one of my good layin’ hens.”

“We saw him,” Penny answered, “but I’m sure you’ll never overtake him now. He ran into the woods.”

“Reckon you’re right,” the man muttered, seating himself on the stone rim of the wishing well. “I’m tuckered.” Taking out a red-bandana handkerchief, he wiped perspiration from his forehead.

Penny thought that she recognized the man as a stonecutter who lived in a shack at the river’s edge. He was a short, muscular individual, strong despite his age, with hands roughened by hard labor. His face had been browned by wind and sun; gray eyes squinted as if ever viewing the world with suspicion and hate.

“Aren’t you Truman Crocker?” Penny inquired curiously.

“That’s my tag,” the stonecutter answered, drawing himself a drink of water from the well. “What are you young ’uns doing here?”

“Oh, our club came to sketch,” Penny returned. “You live close by, don’t you?”

“Down yonder,” the man replied, draining the dipper in a thirsty gulp. “I been haulin’ stone all day. It’s a hard way to make a living, let me tell you. Then I come home to find that young rascal making off with my chickens!”

“Do you know who he was?” asked Louise.

“No, but this ain’t the first time he’s paid me a visit. Last week he stole one of my best Rhode Island Reds. I’m plumb disgusted.”

Rhoda abruptly arose from the grass, gathering together her sketching materials. As if to put an end to the conversation, she remarked:

“It will soon be dark, girls. I think I should start home.”

“We’ll all be leaving in a few minutes,” Penny replied. “Let’s look around a bit more though, before we go.”

“You won’t see nothin’ worth lookin’ at around here,” the stonecutter said contemptuously. “This old house ain’t much any more. There’s good lumber in it though, and the foundation has some first class stone.”

“You speak as if you had designs on it,” Penny laughed. “It would be a shame to tear down a beautiful old house such as this.”

“What’s it good for?” the man shrugged. “There ain’t no one lived here in ten or twelve years. Not since the old lady went off.”

“Did you know Mrs. Marborough?”

“Oh, we said howdy to each other when we’d meet, but that was the size of it. The old lady didn’t like me none and I thought the same of her. She never wanted my chickens runnin’ over her yard. Ain’t it a pity she can’t see ’em now?”

With a throaty sound, half chuckle, half sneer, the man arose and walked with the girls around the house.

“If you want to look inside, there’s a shutter off on the east livin’ room window,” he informed. “Everything’s just like the old lady left it.”

“You don’t mean the furniture is still in the house!” Rhoda exclaimed incredulously.

“There ain’t nothing been changed. I never could figure why someone didn’t come in an’ haul off her stuff, but it’s stood all these years.”

Their curiosity aroused, the girls hastened to the window that Truman Crocker had mentioned. Flattening her face against the dirty pane, Penny peered inside.

“He’s right!” she announced. “The furniture is still covered by sheets! Why, that’s funny.”

“What is?” inquired Louise impatiently.

“There’s a lady’s hat lying on the table!”

“It must be quite out of style by this time,” Louise laughed.

“A new hat,” Penny said with emphasis. “And a purse lying beside it!”

At the other side of the house, an outside door squeaked. Turning around, the group of girls stared almost as if they were gazing at a ghost. An old lady in a long blue silk dress with lace collar and cuffs, stepped out onto the veranda. She gazed beyond the girls toward Truman Crocker who leaned against a tree. Seeing the woman, he straightened to alert attention.

“If it ain’t Priscilla Marborough!” he exclaimed. “You’ve come back!”

“I certainly have returned,” the old lady retorted with no friendliness in her voice. “High time someone looked after this place! While I’ve been away, you seemingly have used my garden as a chicken run!”

“How did I know you was ever coming back?” Crocker demanded. “Anyhow, the place has gone to wrack and ruin. A few chickens more nor less shouldn’t make no difference.”

“Perhaps not to you, Truman Crocker,” Mrs. Marborough returned with biting emphasis. “You know I am home now, so I warn you—keep your live stock out of my garden!”

Penny and her friends shared the old stonecutter’s chagrin, for they too were trespassers. Waiting until the woman had finished lecturing Crocker, they offered an apology for the intrusion.

“We’re very sorry,” Penny said, speaking for the others. “Of course we never dreamed that the house was occupied or we wouldn’t have peeped through the window.